


Reparations

by silverlined



Category: Black Panther (2018)
Genre: Fix-It, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-26
Updated: 2018-02-26
Packaged: 2019-03-24 07:49:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13806762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverlined/pseuds/silverlined
Summary: “Brother,” Shuri says when T’Challa finally manages to contact her, scanning his holo form, with tired, anxious eyes. “Are you sure?”He’s not. With N’Jadaka slumped unconscious against his shoulder, stabilised with a kimoyo bead and the power of the heart shaped herb, it seems easy to just… stop. To let N’Jadaka slip away like the closing of a book, neat and clean.To bury another of Wakanda’s mistakes.“I am,” he says, quiet. N’Jadaka’s weight is warm against him. “We have failed him enough.”





	Reparations

“Brother,” Shuri says when T’Challa finally manages to contact her, scanning his holo form, with tired, anxious eyes. “Are you sure?”

He’s not. With N’Jadaka slumped unconscious against his shoulder, stabilised with a kimoyo bead and the power of the heart shaped herb, it seems easy to just… stop. To let N’Jadaka slip away like the closing of a book, neat and clean.

To bury another of Wakanda’s mistakes.

“I am,” he says, quiet. N’Jadaka’s weight is warm against him. “We have failed him enough.” 

 

The infirmary is full to almost bursting, the Dora Milaje, the Border tribe, the Jabari taking the beds and T’Challa’s heart hurts to see them. His people, all of them, injured because of his folly.

Shuri’s face is drawn with tiredness and they take a moment, hands bumping as they go through their handshake before he draws her in for a hug. The hands that clutch at his back tremble.

He’s going to have nightmares, he thinks distantly. Of not being able to reach her in time, N’Jadaka’s blades arcing down, the same helpless fear as when he’d reached so desperately for their Baba and failed.

He draws back enough to touch his forehead against hers and says, voice steady, “How can I help?”

 

The days that follow are crowded with meetings, the clean up of a short but violent civil war and the Jabari to carefully bring back to the fold. The lines of power and succession are blurred with the challenges unfinished by either forfeit or death.

(“You should have let him die,” Okoye tells him. 

“I should have done many things,” T’Challa says, a curl to his mouth.)

His mother comes down from the mountains, serenely regal with a pure vibranium core. (”My son,” she calls him and the hand that she presses to his cheek is soft but so much stronger than he remembers.) Her presence calms down the Council and T’Challa finds a flash of humour, rare these days, when W’kabi flusters before her, an abashed child once again.

 

T’Challa calls for the War Dogs, all those that have returned from missions overseas and instructions for the rest to extract themselves if possible, to call in safely otherwise.

“Are we withdrawing?” Nakia asks him, challenge in her voice. 

These are the Wakandans that have seen the wider world, that have moved beyond Wakanda’s sheltered lands. 

T’Challa shakes his head. “No. We will learn from our mistakes. I only want to ask them a question.”

What should we do? What  _can_  we do?

T’Challa appoints her as head of the committee. She is as glorious in action here as everywhere else.

 

It feels like forever until Shuri summons him to her lab. (It’s been not quite three days - he’s too tired to count the hours.) Two of the Dora Milaje are stationed with her and there’s an area - a bed - cordoned off conspicuously by force fields.

“I guess he’s not a  _white_  boy, so you’re at least changing up the pattern. A little.” 

Her eyes are bright and smile steady.

“Still broken,” T’Challa says lightly. 

“Broken,” she says smugly, his brilliant little sister. “I can fix. He’s ready to be taken out of stasis.” 

T’Challa takes a quick breath, tries hard to not let a stricken little sound escape. Shuri is kind enough to ignore it, though she touches his hand briefly.

“If I set the protocols, he should wake up naturally within the hour.” 

T’Challa pulls himself enough to thank her, then pushes lightly at her shoulders. “When’s the last time you were above ground? Go visit Mother. She worries.”

“She worries about  _you_ ,” Shuri grumbles but lets herself be herded away from the console once the commands are entered. “Don’t snoop though my stuff! Some of it’s not ready yet.” 

“What, haven’t reinvented physics in the last two days between saving lives?” T’Challa says, mock surprised. He dodges the elbow she aims at his ribs. 

“I’m putting a tail onto your suit. It’s for  _balance_.” 

He looks at her.

“ _And_  it’s cute,” she laughs. Abruptly, she stops spinning and takes his hand. “Don’t stay too long, okay?” 

“I promise.”

T’Challa catches Ayo’s eye and shakes his head at her inquisitive head tilt. He can do this -  _needs_ to do this  _-_ alone.  

In a heartbeat, Shuri’s darted away and it feels like she takes the oxygen with her. The suit weighs heavy around his neck. He struggles to take a deep breath, to center himself as he lowers the force fields and takes a seat by N’Jadaka’s bed. 

Waiting.

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr @nobunyaaga


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